


The Three Roles of Franklin Clay

by shotboxer



Category: The Losers, The Losers (2010)
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotboxer/pseuds/shotboxer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Franklin Clay takes care of his team, in every way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Three Roles of Franklin Clay

 

Sometimes, Clay thinks that the General must have known something, more than even Clay himself knew at the time, when he sent him one Cpl Jacob M. Jensen as his new tech guy. Things had been tough without a decent techie, especially after the last couple of wannabe rejects his Losers had been saddled with 'to help get the job done' while they found him someone who would work with his unit's special blend of brains, brawn, and semi-insubordinate insanity. But he hadn't realized just how close to really coming unglued that they, that *he'd*, come until they were on the tail end of that first mission with Jensen, collapsed at the safe house after having barely made it out of what could have been a true clusterfuck with multiple men down, saved in part by Cougar's shooting (like always) and mostly by what even Clay could tell were some pretty amazing digital distractions provided at finger-blurring speed by his new Corporal. The Corporal who had somehow fit right into that groove in his team that had been empty and moved with them as the proverbial well-oiled machine.

Clay looked after his team. As far as he was concerned, it was part of his job description, part of what being in command meant, although he was aware that he took things a bit farther than most commanders did, had had a few comments about it in the past. He didn't care - the guys making the comments were always pissant paper-pushers or officers with a reputation for having a problem with keeping their men alive - Franklin Clay watched out for his team and he did a damn good job of it.

Part of doing that job was having two roles - the Colonel, and Clay.

The Colonel was the guy who took the orders, gave the orders, made the hard decisions and got hated for it, the guy you didn't argue with, because you're a soldier and he's your CO and that's the end of it.

Clay was the boss, he ran the team, listened to them bitch and moan and bicker and stepped in to shut things down when needed, made sure that everyone got their down time and sick leave (even when it wasn't official and they swore up and down that they were fine) and that the mail and the calls from family that weren't supposed to make it through the Army censors still did.

The Colonel might enforce the regulations, but Clay enforced the rules. All the rules, from 'no one touches the hat' to 'when there's bullets flying you'd better have a really fucking amazing reason not to do what you're told'.

So the Colonel ran things on paper, but Clay was the one who watched out for them, punishments and rewards included. Most people would say that Clay's approach to punishment was unorthodox; he thought of it as old-fashioned. Fortunately, all he mostly had to do was yell and his team had enough sense to know that the option was there if they got too far out of line and that the boss would have no qualms about using it, even if it took a fist fight to get Roque to admit he deserved it and bend over for his.

Once Pooch and Jolene got serious, Clay made a deal with her - if they were close enough, he'd let her handle it, if not, then Clay would lay down the law and call her afterwards so her scolding could cut short any grumbling about how "Linwood Porteous was too damn old to have a sore butt." Clay knew that Cougar tended to save anything Clay'd have a problem with until they were on leave, and he wasn't about to spend his down time spying on the man, but he had years' worth of contacts all over the world who were happy to do him the favor of keeping an eye out and he'd made sure that Carlos knew what the consequences would be if certain lines were ever crossed, wherever and whenever either of them happened to be at the time. His sniper'd crossed one of those lines twice in as many months before Jensen arrived.

*****************************************************************

So there they were in the safe house, all collapsed, well, Pooch was collapsed on the couch, Roque and Clay were sprawled in chairs and Cougar was seated at the table taking apart a gun to clean, which is what counted as 'collapsed' while on-mission for him. Jensen was bouncing between the only part of the couch that wasn't covered by Pooch, most of the table and a couple spots on the floor setting up some sort of electronic equipment and talking non-stop. Clay had sat up and cleared his throat, which was enough for everyone else to come to some sort of attention, if not move much. Jensen, he wasn't surprised, needed more.

"Jensen. Put the damn computer thing down and sit. We've got a few things to go over here."

A blink. Wide eyes that looked suddenly quite young met Clay's before Jensen glanced down and shuffled over to drop down onto the arm of the couch by Pooch's head. When he looked back up, his face was a mask of earnestness stretched thin by desperation. He swallowed hard and was about to speak, but Clay held up a hand to stop him.

"We didn't get to do the whole 'welcome to the team, here's the rundown' thing before so I'm doing it now. I'm sure you got a full brief from the General when you were recruited, and you've seen how we work just now. You did a good job out there and I've got no complaints so far."

He raised a finger when Jensen looked about to jump in.

"I said 'so far' because you're new and you could be the best fucking soldier the world has ever seen and there'd still be wrinkles that'd need ironing out before you found your place on this team. And there'd still be issues in the future because you may all be the best of the best, but you're still human and that means you can still do some damn fuck-witted things sometimes. That's where I come in. There are things about this team, my team, that you won't have gotten in the official briefing. Specifically, how I handle discipline."

Clay paused there, watching Jensen to see how he'd react. This was usually the place where people tensed and started to imagine all sorts of fucked-up shit that their new CO might come up with for 'discipline' in the middle of nowhere places they usually ran missions in.

Jacob Jensen blushed.

And ducked his head, ran a hand over the back of his neck and then, blushing even more, eyed Clay across the room.

"Uh, yeah, I, uh, Alvarez, um, I mean, Cougar, it's Cougar, right? explained it to me. And I'm cool with it. Uh, not that it matters what I think, or, you know you'd need my permission or anything, because you're the CO and all and, well, it couldn't be worse then some of the shit I've had to do for hazing and all . . . oh wait, uh, this isn't some sort of weird hazing thing is it? Tell the new guy the Colonel likes to spank his team during down time and then watch the Colonel tear him a new one for being an idiot and suggesting . . ."

At which point Pooch reached up and put his hand over Jensen's mouth.

"Dude, shut up already. No, it isn't some sort of hazing ritual and yes, we are totally serious."

Clay fixed Jensen with a firm stare.

"One, what Pooch said. This isn't a joke and I am very serious about it.

"Two, I do not need your permission, but I do care if you're 'cool with it' because I have never and will never force a man into a position that traumatizes him. It's a punishment, not torture or some sort of sick abuse of power. So if there's some reason, something in your past, that me turning you over my knee, baring your butt and using my hand to tan your hide is going to bring up stuff or set you off, you can tell me now and we'll work something else out.

"Three, I do not 'like' to spank my team. I like to keep you all as safe and whole as it's possible to do in this insane job we've all volunteered for and I don't see the point of punishments that take away things you use to cope or cut into what little down time we have or end up making more work for or annoying your teammates. I don't like seeing my men in pain and I don't like causing them pain but I will choose a sore butt over a bullet wound every single time. Do we understand each other?"

If possible, Jensen's eyes were even bigger behind his glasses than they'd been before. It took him a couple of tries to get his mouth to work.

"Yes, sir, Col, uh, Clay?", he corrected himself off a raised eyebrow,

"Yessir, Clay. I understand. I just, I mean, you described the procedure pretty thoroughly there, so, um, not much left to ask about, really, it's just, that, okay, I, what happens after? I mean, um, you don't, you won't,"

a huge swallow and the last bit was muffled by Jensen ducking his head low enough to all but bury it in his chest,

"you won't just leave after?"

The miserable hunch of the shoulders and the hitch in his new tech's voice at the end of that last word had something in Clay loosening even as he crossed the room in one quick stride to lift Jensen's chin up.

"I do stay after, and I will stay, for as long as you need. Got it?"

The look of pure relief on the kid's face, chased by one of embarrassment and a brief flash of longing before the kid covered it with a cough and a nod, and Clay knew he was gone. He hadn't figured out where he'd gone to, but he was definitely there and there was no turning back. He cleared his throat to bring things back to more immediate concerns.

"Now that that's sorted, what are we doing for food?"

He only hoped that his kid read the shoulder squeeze as he moved back to his seat as the promise it was.

*************************************************************************************

So the fact that Jensen ended up fitting into the team so well, ended up filling a need that Clay didn't know he had, a need that just happened to coincide with the perfect matching need that Jake'd been suppressing for years, well, Clay figures the General had to have known something. Whatever it was he knew, or thought he knew, Clay is damn grateful for it. More grateful even than for the General's silence on Clay and his team and whatever unspecified needs they were or weren't meeting in their own ways. Because Clay's always figured they all had the skills to survive without being soldiers, and they'd proven him right in the last few months, but he didn't think they'd survive so well without each other, especially after Roque, and those kids.

All those kids.

And damn if seeing those kids die like that hadn't made him need more than ever, need his kid, his boys, even if two of them were only his boys sometimes and his men all the time, need to take care and not just in the 'behind the scenes until someone needs a firmer hand' way Clay had, but in the way only his kid could bring out in him.

And, as if he can hear him thinking (and he probably can), there's a voice from the doorway,

"You're thinking too much, Daddy."

His Jake is just inside the door, in only his boxers and with his glasses askew, gnawing on his lower lip.

"Jake, I thought I told you to finish up with the computers a while ago, and what have I said about hacking in your underwear?"

The boy comes across the room to settle in his open arms on the bed, the shared joke letting him know that Daddy isn't really mad at him, just concerned. Clay settles back against the pillows, spreading his legs and waiting for Jake to settle between them before cradling him against his chest, removing his glasses and setting them aside on the bedside table. Jake sighs and leans into his Daddy's chest.

"I tried to finish like you said but my brain won't shut up. Not that it ever shuts up, but it's really *loud* right now . . ."

He interrupts himself with a yawn smothered against Clay's nipple, which enjoys the inadvertent attention, reminding other parts of what will follow in a while.

"Well, let's see if Daddy can't give that brain of yours something else to focus on, yeah? Lie back for me, now."

Clay rolls them both so that his Jake can stretch out on his back, with Clay braced above him on one side. Dropping a kiss to the kid's forehead, he kneels up to arrange his hands by his sides,

"Now keep those hands at your sides, no touching. I want you to show Daddy what a good boy you can be, use that sweet mouth of yours to tell me what you're feeling, what you want." . . .

"Unh . . ."

For someone who has no problem finding words in all sorts of bizarre and dangerous situations, his boy becomes very inarticulate when he's given the right stimulation. It always starts like this, with Clay mapping his way across the kid's body, trying to find new spots to tease, places to lick and kiss and occasionally pinch that make Jake pant and moan and whine as he gets more and more breathless.

Most times he starts at the top, nibbles an ear, drops kisses along the hair line, watching the eyes, unfocused without his glasses on, tilt up trying to follow him as he moves. Some times, like tonight, he starts at the bottom, dropping a kiss on the kid's stomach and hooking his thumbs in the waistband to drag Jake's boxers down with him on his way to take a toe in his mouth, waiting until he hears

"My toe, Daddy, please, more, higher"

to move on to the suck the next into his mouth, then moving his hands up and down the calves, teasing the backs of the knees. When his tongue follows his hands upwards, he moves his hands to Jake's chest, rubbing in soothing circles and strokes, careful to avoid the rapidly filling cock that brushes against his forearm every so often and listening for when the names of body parts slur into mumbles,

"Toe . . . foot, uh, Daddy, tickles,. . . l,leeeg,ooh, do that again, pleeease,oh yes . . . kn'eeeee . . . th..."

This is the part where he has to pull back, wait for his boy to remember to hold still, to let Daddy do all the work. But tonight the body under him is just that much more tense, a vibration under the skin that reminds him of those early days when his boy was his, but wasn't quite Jake yet, hadn't learned that he would get Daddy's attention no matter what, was worth paying that attention to, still thought that being Daddy's good boy meant holding part of himself back, holding it in. It's a good thing that Clay knows a thing or two about changing tactics in mid-course when need be, and while being Jake's Daddy usually means consistency edges out novelty in the 'how to soothe your boy well and put him to bed wet' sweepstakes, it looks like old responses call for new measures at the moment. With that in mind, Clay scoops his boy's hands up from where they're clenching the covers on either side of him and drops a kiss into each palm before bringing them up to rest on his own shoulders.

"Easy there, kiddo, you're doing great for Daddy, being such a good boy."

The startled look on the face peering down at him from the pillow eases but the eyes are still anxious.

"Wh-what do I do Daddy? I can keep talking .. ."

"You don't have to do anything, little boy, just let Daddy do what he wants, let Daddy worry about all of it, okay?"

The responding "okay" gets swallowed by a gasp as Clay shifts his hands to part Jake's thighs and leans forward to bury his head between them, lathing and sucking at the sensitive skin there. He runs his hand along the bed and grabs a pillow, pausing a moment to slip it under the small of Jake's back, giving himself more access. Returning to the task at hand, one hand stays splayed on Jake's stomach while Clay uses the other to roll his boy's balls and his tongue moves down to the strip of skin behind, tapping out a rhythm in time to the squirming body above him.

The noises Jake is making now are the kind that always go straight to his cock, and Clay'd have a hard time not crawling up and giving that gorgeous mouth something to suck on if he couldn't still feel the lingering tension vibrating under the hand he's kept on his kid's stomach. The knowledge that he's still got a ways to go in taking care of his boy keeps him from letting his own need take over.

Deciding it's time to ramp things up some more, Clay moves his mouth lower, circling his tongue around Jake's entrance, then pushing it just inside, at the same time that his hand moves up to circle the boy's leaking cock. He works in a rhythm, using his tongue to fuck his boy's hole, stroking the throbbing cock in his hand each time his tongue pulls out, then thrusting back inside, listening to the noises from above get louder and closer together.

He listens hard, concentrates on keeping his rhythm, feels the tension ease under his hands, everything telling him that this is his boy, the smell and the taste and those sounds keeping him from the brink and driving him closer to it at the same time. He knows he'll have bruises tomorrow from where Jake is gripping his shoulders, marks made in abandon, evidence of just how good his boy can be, how much he's willing to let go for Daddy.

When he can't maintain his rhythm anymore, and the kid is shuddering with need and the cock in his hand and the one between his legs feel like they're both about to erupt, Clay gathers himself and levers up, taking Jake's hands from his shoulders and rolling them both over onto their sides as he goes. Capturing his boy's mouth in his, Clay slides his hand back down Jake's back to the entrance already open and wet from his previous efforts, sliding two fingers inside in one firm stroke. His other hand moves between them to clasp around both their cocks, lined up already by twitching hips and familiarity. It only takes a few rough pulls from his calloused palm and he's shuddering over the edge, curving his fingers inside Jake and feeling his boy follow him, open-mouthed cries buried against the crook of his neck.

He holds still for a moment after, listening to his boy, feeling for any lasting tension. But Franklin Clay is damn good at his whatever role he fulfills and this time is no exception, so all he's got is thoroughly limp and pleasured boy, lose and trusting by his side. He disengages himself just long enough to grab the wipes off the bedside table and clean them both up, then tugs the covers down on the far side and slides in under them, pulling Jake to him and the covers out from under and then over his boy with practiced movements. Clay wraps his arms around Jake and Jake sleepily settles with his head on Clay's chest. As Jake's eyes drift closed, he murmurs,

"Was I good for you Daddy?"

"You're always good for me, Jake, always."

"Love you, Daddy Clay"

"Love you too, Jensen Kid. Now go to sleep. We've got work tomorrow."

***********************************************************************

Of the three roles Franklin Clay has played in his adult life - Colonel, Clay and Daddy - the first, he was surprised to find he didn't need. The last two, well, those two he wouldn't trade for anything, can't do without them and wouldn't want to anyway. Besides, in the end they've ended up being the same role anyway - taking care of his boys, always.


End file.
